Plotters.
Who: Dumbledore, Harry.
What: Stuff.
When: During Care of Magical Creatures.
Where: Dumbledore's office.
This Post Is: Closed!!
Notes: Please read the link - I don't know how to rephrase all that in Dumbledore's wise way, so I'm not going to. I'm serious when I say read it.
After being sent to Dumbledore's office from Care of Magical Creatures the moment that he arrived to class, Harry was feeling a bit nervous. Had he done something wrong? Had something horrible happened? Was it his fault? Harry sighed. He didn't want another death added to the list of monstrosities that he was responsible for merely by being alive.
Harry waited in the office alone - well, there were several sleeping portraits and a snoozing Fawkes, but none counted or were comforting. He was so perturbed that even Dumbledore's latest password ("portable swamp") couldn't amuse him. Finally, Harry heard the door open, and turned from the direction that he'd been pacing in.
"Take a seat, Harry."
Harry didn't want to sit, really. He was too antsy. But he reluctantly did as Dumbledore said, waiting to hear more. Harry has the urge to interrupt, but he doesn't want to waste any time. He wants to know what's going on, and now.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, sitting in his desk himself. Harry noted that the wizard looked especially old. "There are people willing to help, but you know the prophecy. Much of the Wizarding World's fate does indeed rest on your shoulders."
Harry relaxed. This was it? "I know."
Rather reluctantly, Dumbledore continued, explaining to Harry all that he knew, and not pausing until he was finished. He gazed at Harry, his eyes not possessing an ounce of twinkle.
Harry couldn't breathe for a moment. He thought of the incident of that morning briefly, in which Seamus glued Dean to his seat in Transfiguration, and felt as if everything clicked for a moment. "Funny joke, Professor," Harry said, laughing nervously. Something deep down told him it wasn't a joke, but he refused to believe otherwise. It couldn't be. It couldn't.
Dumbledore paused. "Harry... it's true. However unfortunately, it's true. I wasn't considering the date when I chose to inform you. I'm telling you because some things have happened which might result in Voldemort knowing of this connection."
Harry didn't want to hear this. He was enraged. "You've known for so long - and you haven't told me! Again! And, what does all this- I can't-" Harry sputtered, unable to finish his sentence. He didn't even know who would be finishing it. Who was he? Was he ever him? He wasn't Harry, now? What did all of this mean? Harry couldn't handle this. He didn't give Dumbledore a chance to answer, storming from the office. He wouldn't be attending any more classes today.
Harry found himself in the Room of Requirement, attempting not to cry as he glared at his reflection in a mirror that was apparently required for this crisis.
What: Stuff.
When: During Care of Magical Creatures.
Where: Dumbledore's office.
This Post Is: Closed!!
Notes: Please read the link - I don't know how to rephrase all that in Dumbledore's wise way, so I'm not going to. I'm serious when I say read it.
After being sent to Dumbledore's office from Care of Magical Creatures the moment that he arrived to class, Harry was feeling a bit nervous. Had he done something wrong? Had something horrible happened? Was it his fault? Harry sighed. He didn't want another death added to the list of monstrosities that he was responsible for merely by being alive.
Harry waited in the office alone - well, there were several sleeping portraits and a snoozing Fawkes, but none counted or were comforting. He was so perturbed that even Dumbledore's latest password ("portable swamp") couldn't amuse him. Finally, Harry heard the door open, and turned from the direction that he'd been pacing in.
"Take a seat, Harry."
Harry didn't want to sit, really. He was too antsy. But he reluctantly did as Dumbledore said, waiting to hear more. Harry has the urge to interrupt, but he doesn't want to waste any time. He wants to know what's going on, and now.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, sitting in his desk himself. Harry noted that the wizard looked especially old. "There are people willing to help, but you know the prophecy. Much of the Wizarding World's fate does indeed rest on your shoulders."
Harry relaxed. This was it? "I know."
Rather reluctantly, Dumbledore continued, explaining to Harry all that he knew, and not pausing until he was finished. He gazed at Harry, his eyes not possessing an ounce of twinkle.
Harry couldn't breathe for a moment. He thought of the incident of that morning briefly, in which Seamus glued Dean to his seat in Transfiguration, and felt as if everything clicked for a moment. "Funny joke, Professor," Harry said, laughing nervously. Something deep down told him it wasn't a joke, but he refused to believe otherwise. It couldn't be. It couldn't.
Dumbledore paused. "Harry... it's true. However unfortunately, it's true. I wasn't considering the date when I chose to inform you. I'm telling you because some things have happened which might result in Voldemort knowing of this connection."
Harry didn't want to hear this. He was enraged. "You've known for so long - and you haven't told me! Again! And, what does all this- I can't-" Harry sputtered, unable to finish his sentence. He didn't even know who would be finishing it. Who was he? Was he ever him? He wasn't Harry, now? What did all of this mean? Harry couldn't handle this. He didn't give Dumbledore a chance to answer, storming from the office. He wouldn't be attending any more classes today.
Harry found himself in the Room of Requirement, attempting not to cry as he glared at his reflection in a mirror that was apparently required for this crisis.